Praise You in this Storm
by brodie-wan
Summary: Luke grieves over Mara's death.


**A/N: Another late night excursion. This is a short one shot examing a time in Luke's grief over Mara's death. **

Praise You in the Storm

Rain hammers the lone figure who walks aimlessly through the slums of lower Coruscant. He doesn't know why he's come here. Perhaps, he wants a fight; to beat something or some in response to his pain. Or, on the other hand, he may want to be beaten; thrashed for his inability to save her. He hasn't decided yet.

His robes are soaked and feel heavy, even on his strong frame. He is tired. He is weak. He is grieving and wondering why the Force would allow such a travesty of justice to occur. The anger mixed with sorrow and shock welling inside of him was so powerful, he threw back the front of hi outer robe, gripped his lightsaber harshly from his belt and raised it above his head, dashing it to the duracrete road.

It didn't break. For the love of the Force, could he do anything right. He couldn't even bust his lightsaber effectively. He bent to pick it up, examining the hilt. His eye brows rose and bunch above his nose line in incredulity. He blinked and wiped water from his eyes and looked again. There was not a scratch on it. It was as if the blade had never hit the ground. His wonder soon turned again to anger and he added some Force as he threw it once again at the exterior wall of a nearby tavern. He saw and heard the casing hit the wall and saw it fall, inexplicably in once piece to the ground. He lumbered over where it fell, picked it up, and examined it again. No scratch.

He saw red.

Clenching the silver hilt in both hands, his body tensed and looked to the sky, emitting a deep, guttural growl of rage. Every ounce of energy he could muster; every bit Force he could pull flowed to his hands as he attempted to physically pull it apart.

It simply would not break. He collapsed in a heap of broken Jedi, falling to his knees. He must have looked foolish to any passer by; a poor drunk exiting the tavern sees a cloaked individual struggling, apparently with himself.

Who or what was he challenging? What was the purpose his desire to destroy his lightsaber? And why was he roaming dangerous streets in the middle of the night? Would he fight the Force in person? Would he take a swing at his god? Is Mara's death worth forsaking his faith? At the moment, part of him thought it was. Part of him wanted to challenge the Force face to face; to ask it WHY! He wanted an explanation. As if that would make sense of his loss. Sense, maybe. Remove his pain? No.

From his knees, he fell sideways, landing on the pavement with a dull smack. He curled into a fetal position next to wall of the bar and drew inside himself, trying in some way to make the Force so small within him so that he could not feel it.

He didn't know what to do. He didn't know what to do without her. He wondered, in self pity, how he had every done anything without her. She was his mate; the one person for his soul to bind with. And, the binding had been torn. He was a book without a cover; a story with no beginning or end; a raft drifting in an endless ocean without a rudder.

He felt push against the wall he had built around his heart. The Force, apparently, had something to say about his self loathing and accompanying figurative flagellation. He tried to stuff it, to suppress a rising response which would not be denied.

Bracing a hand against the wet street, he pushes himself into a sitting position.

_A Jedi's strength flows from the Force._

SHUT UP!

_The Force is what gives a Jedi his power. _

I don't want you!

_It surrounds us and penetrates us. It binds the galaxy together._

Dame the whole kriffing galaxy!

"_Luke, don't give in to hate – that leads to the dark side._"

He finally hears Obi-Wan's voice. It had been there with each message; each memory. Every word spoken by his first teacher and friend. Every word a reminder from the Force about what it was like to first experience its wonders. Every word a reminder of his purpose before he ever met Mara. It is a purpose that cannot yet be left in the hands of others. It is a purpose for which he was born. A purpose that he know Mara would want him to see completed. It is of the Force and by the Force.

He stands, wearily, removing his cloak and throwing it over his shoulder. There is work yet to do; work he must rely on the Force itself to give him the strength and wisdom to see through. He cannot do it on his own. He has already tried…and failed.

Ben needs him. As do his Jedi. His sister and Han have missed him.

Walking back onto the street, a little purpose in his step, but hardly confidant, he latches his lightsaber to his belt once again. Raising his hands to the darkened sky, he opens himself fully to the Force once again. As it flows through him, there is relief and the tingle of its presence.

"_The Force will be with you. Always._"

His lip quirks with the faintest hint of a smile.


End file.
